


The Broken Symphony

by Verde_Manzanita



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Difficult Decisions, F/M, Falling In Love, Photography, References to Depression, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verde_Manzanita/pseuds/Verde_Manzanita
Summary: Maya Freidenburg takes photograps for a living, and she's pretty good at it. She's a successful professional and should feel full of life. That wouldn't be so relevant it she hadn't been feeling lost for a long time now, not really knowing what to do with her life. It's being a difficult time for Richard also, he's being forced to cope with some complicated feelings and to face some hard decisions. His days are starting to feel rather grey and even music can't make him forget about those sensations.But one cannot ever know the sparks of light life has in store for us, and these could all come with a flash and a riff.





	The Broken Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> This's been dancing inside my mind for some days and I finally decided to share it with you all. I'm a slow updater (work/life/issues prevent me from doing it more quickly) but this is a story I want to tell.
> 
> I hope you are interested and share your thoughts and comments with me (comments are the best fuel to a writer).  
> Thanks to all for reading in advance.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work or fiction and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

**I**

_Has he lost his mind?_

_Can he see or is he blind?_

_Can he walk at all,_

_or if he moves he will fall?_

 

Ozzy Osborne’s torn voice broke the silence in the room around 10.15 in the morning and brought a smile to the lips of the woman who was swiftly typing in her computer. Ozzy announced _The Metal Machine_ , and _The Metal Machine_ meant some interesting work and a healthy amount of fun. Not that she didn’t enjoy herself at _Quills_ –it was her personal project after all–, but Ozzy was always offering exciting opportunities and new ways for her work to be spread outside Germany and even Europe.

The magazine’s icon popped up on the screen of her smartphone; she answered the call feeling a spark of joy for the first time that day.

“Johann, _Schatz_[1], what do you have for me?”

“ _Hallo Süße_[2], something you’re gonna love”, replied the voice in the other end of the line with a certain hint of mystery. Johann Müller had been running _The Metal Machine_ for more than twenty years, it was the most famous rock and metal magazine in all Germany and he himself had interviewed dozens of internationally renowned bands; his magazine had gained the reputation of a serious and professional media, and that was all thanks to Johann and his team’s job. “How about photographing six barely known dudes who sing something like « _you’ve got a pussy, I have a dick_[3]»? How does that sound?”

“Are you giving me Rammstein?”

“They’re all yours if you want them, and I’d like to emphasise that last thing wasn’t meant to be literal”, the man joked. She fell silent for a couple of seconds, absorbed all of a sudden by the maroon shade of her nail polish. “ _Süße_?”

“All right, I’m interested. Tell me more.”

“I’ve been thinking about something different this time. The interview will be focused not only in their music but also on their personal side projects and their views on art, literature and life. These guys are over 50 and everyone’s seen the furious, controversial musicians –I myself have talked to them more than once. What I want is for the readers to be able to see the people behind by doing something more intimist without falling into clichés and banalities.”

“And you want the pictures to go that way.”

“Exactly, and I can’t think of anyone better than you for the job. I don’t need you to make them pick up flowers and pet puppies, but I don’t picture them drowned in make-up and clad in leather, if I’m explaining myself.”

“People say I know how to do my job Johann, thank you”, the woman pointed out sardonically. “You are insufferable sometimes.”

“One can _never_ be too cautious. Is it right if we write to each other this afternoon to discuss the details? I have an important appointment now but you’ll have all the information in your mailbox before you go home.”

“Sounds perfect. See you Johann, and many thanks.”

“To you, _Süße_. And hey”, Johann said sounding a bit more serious, “I know you’ve been under lots of pressure lately, but think carefully. Give yourself a time, as much as you need, and come back after you’ve restored your energy, but please, don’t quit.” She didn’t know what to say, but felt extremely grateful to Johann for his interest in her well-being. Their relationship wasn’t only a professional one, they’d been friends for years and she had shared with him her worries about the exhaustion and lack of motivation that had been following her everywhere for some months. “You’re the best photographer I know Maya, just don’t take your talent away from us.”

When Maya Freidenburg hung up the phone, she closed her eyes and rested her back on her white leather swivel chair. She had to breathe deeply a couple of times before opening them again. It would be fun and a good chance to escape from a routine that had been taken its toll on her on a seriously deep level. She was familiar with Rammstein’s music and she enjoyed it pretty much, but she got the feeling that staging a photoshoot with those six men would be a bigger challenge than others she had faced before because they didn’t seem to be especially approachable. She fancied a lot the idea of capturing with her camera a side of them that wasn’t normally seen, but it wasn’t going to be easy, for she didn’t want the rockers but the men; she was well aware of Till Lindemann’s shyness before a camera, Oliver Riedel and Christian Lorentz seemed even more reserved, Richard Kruspe and Paul Landers were naturally-born showmen and it could complicate reaching a deeper knowledge of them, and, judging by his pictures, she had always had the feeling that Christoph Schneider could break into a million pieces under a flash. Nevertheless, she told herself, she was a professional and it would go well. Her working methods had always included creating a safe and comfortable environment for everyone, and that’s why she thought it’d be a good idea to perform shoots separately, in order to build a more intimate scenario.

Maya had never allowed herself to be intimidated by her job because she’d had to work hard to be where she was now. She had paid her degree in History of Art by taking orders at a coffee shop in central Berlin, she’d had to put all her willpower in improving her photography skills, she’d had to save a lot of money over time to be able to settle by herself and set up _Quills_ , and all her efforts had been worth it all, although she found it hard now to get the motivation she needed to keep on doing what she was supposed to love. Rammstein would be a part of a reward she was no more sure she wanted, but she intended to collect it anyways.

She had already started to sketch some ideas for the shoot when one of her editors, Lola, appeared at her office’s doorstep carrying a red folder.

“ _Morgen_[4]”, she greeted joyfully. Lola was possibly the most cheerful person Maya had ever met, one of the most professional too.

“ _Buenos días Lola, ¿qué me traes?_[5]” Lola was Spanish and had moved to Berlin a few years ago; she spoke German and handled the city with no problem, but Maya had come up with the idea of learning Spanish so they could communicate more easily and in hopes she could make her feel closer to home. The young woman laughed and nodded approvingly.

“Your Spanish gets better day by day, just don’t lose that strong accent of yours, it’s divine”, she chirped. Maya smiled; her Spanish sounded like she was beating a euphoric cat while speaking, but Lola found it rather funny and encouraged her to keep on learning. She handed Maya the folder and took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs before her desk. “It’s the introduction and notes for the shoots with Heidi Schreiber and Martin Bock, and the interview with the boy who won the contest”, she explained.

Maya took a peek at it and sighed tiredly, but decided to spend the rest of the morning working alongside Lola and telling her the news about Rammstein. Lola was a fan. _A die-hard fan_. Maya wasn’t entirely sure if she fangirled over their music or over how well those pants suited the drummer, in her own words, but a fan she was all in all and Maya knew telling her had been a good idea, for her continuous chit chat made her laugh more than once and blew her previous doubts away. When Lola asked her with a deadly serious face to try and focus well on Doom’s ass in the pictures, Maya had a fit of laughter and assured her while wiping some tears away that she would steal his pants as soon as he let his guard down. Lola smirked wickedly.

“I’ll build them an altar and pray to them every night before going to bed.”

 

* * *

 

**II**

Paul Landers stared at the smoke coming out of Richard’s mouth from the kitchen’s window. He was on the porch giving his cigarette one last drag before heading back into the house. He had invited him to spend some time at his place after Christmas was over; he’d seen his friend behaving distracted and downcast and knew for a fact when Reesh was having a hard time it became absurdly easy for him to have a mental block. He seemed to be overthinking his future in the band lately, and the very validity of his own personal projects, and Paul, who simply couldn’t stand seeing him like that, was legit worried. He’d had to insist a bunch of times on Reesh coming to his place, and he had only accepted after Paul yelled at him on the phone to _move your ass over here, you damn lunatic_ , but he wasn’t sure about what to do to help him regain his motivation and the will to keep composing.

The week before the six of them had had a meeting with their manager to settle a photoshoot for _The Metal Machine_ ; everyone liked the idea of getting a couple of days to have some fun fooling around with a camera and to forget their problems. They had worked with Johann Müller before and it had been a great experience, but this time he was up to a different kind of interview, a more intimate one, and Paul feared how it could affect Richard or the things he might say. Anyways, he had seen Reesh fiddling with his favourite guitar the night before and they even had kind of a jam session in his living room, so he still hoped for him to get better eventually.

“Do you want a beer?”, he offered showing him the stubby in his hand when he made his way into the kitchen.

“Sure”. Paul handed him a beer and they drank together in silence for a few minutes until Richard broke it. “What was that woman’s name again?”

“Maya Freidenburg, does it ring a bell?”

“Nope, but we could do some Google research.”

They’d been told the photographer for the interview would be some Maya Freidenburg, who often collaborated with _The Metal Machine_ and had performed great-quality shoots for many other artists, besides running her own photography magazine, _Quills_. Richard went upstairs to collect his laptop and returned to place it on the kitchen’s island. Once accommodated in a stool he turned it on and typed her name on Google. A moment later a full set of different images appeared onscreen. Some of them pictured examples of German architecture; Paul pointed a black and white one displaying what he believed were the spires of Köln’s cathedral taken from a rather unusual angle, and another one showing the dragon from Munich’s town hall in full detail. A bunch of them displayed diverse landscapes, furious waves lifting up the rocky shore of Heligoland’s island, the knotty roots of the Black Forest’s trees crammed together, fighting over a faint ray of sun the thick crowns had let through, an immense wheat field waved by a wild wind…Richard clicked on every image Paul signalled and they stared at them admiring their beauty.

“She’s good”, Paul had to admit. He took a sip from his beer. “Make a more specific search, let’s see how she handles musicians.”

“Didn’t Müller say she made a shoot for KoRn sometime?”, Richard asked, and typed «Maya Freidenburg KoRn» on the search engine. The shoot for _The Metal Machine_ Johann Müller had mentioned appeared before them, and there were some really good pictures on it. She had captured Munky, their guitarist, just as he was jumping while playing his guitar with a rare fury, and his dreadlocks flew around his head like a spiky crown; she had also immortalised Jonathan Davis contemplating his own hands with a hint of pain in his look, and there was also a close-up of Ray Luzier’s eye soaked in tears that were about to fall down his cheek. Every image spoke directly to its spectator.

“They’re incredible, I want this woman to take a picture of me”, Paul said.

“Having some weird-ass fantasies, Paulchen? Will you ask her to strip you and tie you up?”, Richard asked slyly while checking the suggested searches. Paul spewed a particularly detailed profanity at him and he clicked a link that read «Maya Freidenburg The Metal Portraits». “There must be more band pics here”. There weren’t. They were redirected to the photographer’s personal web, to another link allowing the free download of what seemed to be an e-book called _The Metal Portraits by Maya Freidenburg_ ; the black and white cover showed some women’s wet hands holding the broken neck of an electric guitar, and the description explained it was a series of photographs with which the author intended to represent rock and metal music the way she perceived them. “This looks rather cool, shall we download it?”

“Go on”.

While waiting for the book to be downloaded, they risked taking a look at the web of the magazine she ran. It wouldn’t have been relevant hadn’t they seen the image of _Quill_ ’s Jannuary issue’s front cover, titled _Desperation_. A naked woman with her arms wide open was floating on water. Her body glowed in a strange light that enhanced her big green eyes and her rosy mouth. Her long, dark hair seemed to frolic around her head, all adorned with at least a dozen peacock feathers, and the look on her face denoted some certain melancholy. She had fair skin and broad hips, her nipples were small and a pale shade of pink and her belly was smooth and slightly swollen. The light mop of dark hair in between her legs seemed to float too, and her creamy, full thighs looked inviting. Paul let out a breathless gasp, practically hissed, and frowned not being really able to look anywhere else.

“Holy fuck, I’ll have to beg that woman to introduce me to the model”, he murmured lost in the hypnotism of the image. “Phew, just look at her, she’s… she’s…”

“ _Hübsch_[6]”, Richard muttered in a husky voice.

“And this was supposed to show desperation?”

“Look at her eyes, she’s about to scream”, Richard commented while Paul got nearer the screen to examine the cover.

“I’d be the one to scr-”. Paul had stopped talking and was staring at the image like he was seeing visions. " _It can’t be_ ".

“What?”

“Maya Freidenburg”. Richard gave him a quizzical look. “It’s not a model”, a stunned Paul said, “it’s the photographer, look”. He pointed one finger to the caption. Below the articles’ names the issue contained, a small caption read _Portrait of our chief director, Miss Freidenburg, as took by herself_. Paul felt an uncomfortable dryness in his throat and took a big gulp of his beer. “I might be asking her to strip me and tie me up after all…”, he laughed.

“And then I’ll help her shove you into a box so you stop bothering”.

“ _Arschloch_[7]. Dude… I think I’m gonna start buying this magazine”, Paul said engrossed in the floating body. Strangely enough, Richard didn’t say a thing, he kept looking at the photography instead. “Yes, I’m subscribing, I’m subscribing right now”.

A couple of hours later they had dinner and went early to bed to prepare for the interviews and shoots starting the next day. It wouldn’t be their turn until the third day but Paul was tired and Richard just didn’t feel like doing anything else than staying in bed studying the ceiling. But once in his room, Richard opened his laptop and searched for _Quill_ ’s cover again; he put on his framed glasses and analysed the floating woman with care noticing some details he hadn’t seen before. He could see a couple of wrinkles at the corners of her lips and eyes, a piercing but defeated gaze that made him wonder why, her frowned brow, the faint shadow of a scar in her inner forearm… That was the way she had chosen to show herself to the world.

And man, she was a thing of beauty.

 

* * *

 

 

[1] Honey, sweetie.

[2] Hello sweetheart.

[3] Lyrics for _Pussy_ ’s chorus.

[4] Morning (abbreviated form of _Guten Morgen_ ).

[5] Good morning Lola, what are you bringing to me?

[6] Beautiful.

[7] Asshole.


End file.
